


minji is gay

by mongaygay



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: F/F, Monsta X Ray universe, dior x minji, girls are cute, minji is a dumb gay, mxray 3 ep 6, they're both dumb gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 21:19:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongaygay/pseuds/mongaygay
Summary: If she’s being honest (and over the past few weeks the honesty is just forcing its way out), Dior’s exactly her type of woman.She’s not a dumbass; she knows hotness runs in genetics and she knows that both Namshin and Dior are hot (Read: As Fuck). And she can’t deny the glances she’s stolen every time Dior had shown up for Martial Arts club in all her inappropriately-dressed, short-skirted glory, with her long legs that probably grew all the way up to her asshole. Dior’s expensive, tall, and she knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. And Minji’s gay, damnit. Her moral backbone can only ever get her this far, her other bones (like gay bones or bi bones) will bring her the rest of the way.--- Lee Minji is distracted from her studies by a very pretty girl.





	minji is gay

Lee Minji has a hard time concentrating on her notes these days at the library. It’s been going on for a few weeks now, her hand always instinctively reaching out for her phone where she’s probably just put it down seconds ago. Firstly, it was Sangah’s love troubles, Minji having to go the nine miles just to get her dumb best friend and dumber Hangyeol to fall for each other. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed it, because she is a huge advocate of living vicariously through her very extremely pretty best friend, but at some point she got sick of focusing on a dumb boy for too long. Now that dumb and dumber were together, she can finally stop going through instagram all day. But she can’t stop. (She pulls back in annoyance from her phone where her hand has reflexively reached again.)  

 

That’s the secondly, and that’s the problem. It turns out this isn’t about Sangah after all. 

 

(Minji sighs and picks up the phone anyway, since it’s not like self-control seems to be a viable option.)

 

The first thing that appears on her feed is Dior, as always, because social media platforms are a ploy and the FBI agent assigned to her seems to have assessed that that is the person she always wants to see first. Dior is the new girl in school that she has been stalking for a month online, because, you know, of Sangah-Hangyeol stuff. But also, not anymore, if she’s really being real with herself.

 

She subconsciously zooms into Dior’s latest upload, a selfie of herself and her brother who is dozing off in the background… Namshin. Minji has to admit, she’s always had a thing for him. She had been shocked out of her mind when she found out the two of them were actually related, since self-assured, arrogant Dior had been someone she would never have associated with someone quite as likeable as Namshin. He was a quiet boy with a killer smile, the legendary Namshin of the Arts department, and you can’t pass up a handsome man who who’s also silent to boot. And with all honesty, he is exactly her type of man, refined, cute, kinda buff, dimples and stuff. She always got little tingles in parts of her heart she didn’t know existed every time she dragged Sangah over to talk to him, and whenever she texted him these random little things and he replied. So why is she zooming in on Dior instead?

 

If she’s being honest (and over the past few weeks the honesty is just forcing its way out), Dior’s exactly her type of woman. 

 

She’s not a dumbass; she knows hotness runs in genetics and she knows that both Namshin and Dior are hot (Read: As Fuck). And she can’t deny the glances she’s stolen every time Dior had shown up for Martial Arts club in all her inappropriately-dressed, short-skirted glory, with her long legs that probably grew all the way up to her asshole. Dior’s expensive, tall, and she knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. And Minji’s  _ gay _ , damnit. Her moral backbone can only ever get her this far, her other bones (like gay bones or bi bones) will bring her the rest of the way. 

 

She likes the photo, and for a moment, convinces herself that she is okay with that, before rapidly clicking unlike, turning her phone off, and flipping it over so she can’t see the screen. She has to remind herself that it was Dior who followed her on instagram first (after Minji unblocked her unprompted, but no one’s counting that). It’s not like they were enemies anymore, not after Namshin’s hospital scare and after Sangah and Hangyeol got together (or that they ever really hated each other). Not after Dior had revealed her soft baby sister side, sitting pouty and anxious by his bedside, as opposed to her more snappy and violent usual self. At those times, Minji had almost been tempted to comfort her, but her ass had stayed planted firm on the visitor’s couch like the coward its owner was. 

 

Sometimes it amuses Minji how alike her and Dior really are, two loudmouth girls determined to prove that martial arts is indeed a short skirt sport, who love drama and who have soft spots for Namshin (in very different ways of course). She doesn’t know why it’s taken her up till now to admit that… she has a crush on Dior. Irrevocably, unmistakably, undeniably. 

 

Especially since that’s why she’s started frequenting this library instead of the one she usually went to. After all the stalking and digging, she had found out (for Sangah!) that the library in the background of all of Dior’s pictures with Hangyeol was this one. She had told herself she was only coming here now because of the better ambience, or the better vibes, and all the vague niceties you can only use on a place you don’t actually like, because the real reason she was here all the time was to see Dior. She had been having strange little fantasies of meeting a gorgeous stranger in an isolated library, dreams composed of cherry kisses and holding a pretty girl’s hand and pink skies and standing in the nighttime drizzle together under one umbrella. 

 

But Dior hasn’t exactly appeared in the library, these past few weeks, or at all, actually, though Minji is still full of hope. She has to show up at some point, right? Even beautiful demon seductresses like Dior have to study, Minji reasons with herself, wanting to stuff her phone deep, deep down in her bag, past the huge sweater she had scammed off of Sangah and past her black umbrella and past the crumpled balls of what possibly used to be homework. If the real and very stunning Dior wouldn’t be blessing her with her presence, there is also no point to stalking her online. It’s really hard, though. Dior posts a million and one things a day— plush fabrics, windowsill cacti, lush, fat cats, and lately, Minji has stopped caring that her name would appear in the list of people who had viewed the stories. The only thing her dignity had kept her from (technically) was liking any of the pictures directly. She kind of wants to, though.

 

Dior’s feed is perfectly arranged, perfectly designed, and despite posting a million things on her story, she is extremely picky about the things that make it into the actual uploads. Even most of the Hangyeol photos had been deleted, and since she basically only had 10 pictures overall on the account, it was easy for Minji to view posts she made months and years ago. Minji lingers a little too long on a post dated 3 November 2016, a candid of Dior in the glow of the birthday surprise candles; through the blur of the motion, she can make out the smooth silk robes Dior must have been sleeping in before being shaken awake at midnight. Unwittingly, she runs a hand over her screen where Dior from over a year ago smiles shyly away from the camera.  _ Dream girl… _

 

Something about the picture and how mushy her heart had gotten brings her attention everywhere but where she is, and she barely notices when the girl she’s been staring at walks in through the library door. Only when Dior is already in front of her dropping her bag onto the seat, Minji is shocked back into reality.

 

“Can I sit here?” Dior asks her as if it’s the most natural thing to do, as if they were even on speaking terms. Minji swears she isn’t staring, but the other girl is wearing the fuzziest oversized pale pink turtleneck and the tightest, shiniest pair of leather pants, and matching pink sneakers with giant pink ribbon laces, and she had already followed the fashion trail all the way down there. It turns out she was staring, after all. Snapping back to reality, she nods quickly and swipes her stuff ungracefully off of Dior’s side of the table, making sure to keep her head down and not look at her face. (She did peek at her face, and she is delighted to note that Dior’s makeup looked magic and pristine, as usual, and that she was looking at Minji with a curt expression much more polite than ever before.) 

 

They sit across each other in silence, and they might as well be strangers. Dior’s things take up as much space as her unspoken territory stretches across, but she only sits in front of Minji and uses her phone most of the time. Even after an hour has passed, Dior’s books remain untouched on the table, and the only object that ever moves is her apple juice when she picks it up and takes a sip every few minutes.  _ Extremely _ relatable. Minji gives up staring at the pretty girl who’s obviously not here to actually study, tucks a stray strand of hair hair behind her ear, and decides to get to work (at last). 

 

She’s starting to write the title on her notes, a cute highlighter cursive that she definitely was going to spend ages on, when she hears a quiet cough from across the table and almost curses out loud, dragging a bright yellow line right out the top of her paper. Dior is leaning slightly over the table towards her when she looks up, fingers resting hesitantly on the edge of her notes, blinking slowly over at her. Minji tilts her head questioningly, looking from the notes and back to Dior, and then again. 

 

“Could you explain this part to me? I don’t really get it.” There’s a hint of a whine in her voice, quietly pleading, and Minji must have blinked and missed the pout that forms for just a second before it’s gone like the wind. She nods, cautiously reaching over for the notes, slipping them out of Dior’s hands and sliding them back towards herself. It’s definitely not a topic she is well-versed in, but at least she’s not completely clueless in it, because the other girl is looking at her like she’s her only hope. Dior’s gaze doesn’t linger on her for too long, but what comes next is much more overwhelming than any stare, when she walks around the table and plops down next to Minji’s trembling, shaking body. Now that they’re side by side, Minji sees from the corner of her eyes the tiny fruit charms sewn delicately onto the edges of the sweater sleeves, and Dior’s hands resting delicately over her crossed legs. And she’s full on staring again, she realises, when she has to fully lift her head only to see Dior staring at her as well, but in a more justified and confused way.

 

Minji quickly zooms directly into explanation, tripping over her own words and falling into various pits of embarrassment she didn’t even know could be felt. It’s almost as if she’s going round in circles explaining because she really doesn’t understand it that well herself, and it might just be Minji’s imagination, but after a while, it begins to feel as though Dior is leaning in closer and closer, until she can almost feel the tickle of the sweater fur on her cheek. A shudder runs through her body as the thought sends waves down her spine and her hand spasms where it had been resting on the table. She turns to face Dior. 

 

Brown eyes stare back at her inches away from where she’s frozen, deeper and darker than anything she’s ever looked at, and still with the afternoon sunlight reflected there, right there, where if Minji had stared hard enough, she could have seen herself trembling inside. Dior is so close, and if Minji was a smarter girl, she wouldn’t have done what she does next. She backs off at the speed of light, ducking her head, and when she looks up, Dior has gone away too.

 

Damn it.

 

She takes a breath to settle her nerves and finishes explaining to Dior, who genuinely doesn’t seem to be taking anything in, just blinking at her with her chin cupped in both palms.  _ Breathe, Minji, you dumb bitch, breathe _ . Finally when she’s reached the limit of explanation, Dior nods an okay and pulls the notes away, then almost shocks the life out of poor Minji by nuzzling her head onto her shoulder slightly. What’s happening? What sweet savoury nightmare is Minji stuck in where Dior’s gigantic pretty head is resting on her gay delicate shoulders? She can’t seem to make herself relax, just letting Dior rest on bone and really tensed muscle, and finds herself wishing a weird wish that the pretty girl would lie on her boobs instead. 

 

“Thank you so much.” Dior says into her shoulder, before scooping her notes up and sitting back upright, “Since I’m already here, I’ll just stay.” And then she says _hehe_ , out loud, like a fucking _cartoon_ _character_ , and Minji almost melts.   
  


After that ordeal, there are a couple more ordeals, a couple more freak-outs, like when Dior drops her hand onto Minji’s leg and her entire body convulses, or when Dior gets a paper cut along her plastic folder and shoves her finger into Minji’s face whining for her to check if she’s bleeding, or when she swears she got something in her eye and Minji has to blow it out. All she manages to do every time this happens is keep from screaming and just go along with whatever is being asked of her. She lets Dior put her hands on her thigh without swooning, she puts her lips near her goddamn finger to “kiss it better”, and she even leans in super close to blow at Dior’s eye without getting to kiss her dumb face. All the while, she’s beginning to wonder about it all. 

 

Either Dior is an extremely clumsy, accident-prone person, or there’s something more going on. Just like that, a thought flits across Minji’s head, quick and improbable as a dream. She barely has time to register it when Dior leans over and whines slightly in her direction.

 

Minji grunts, “Ye.” Dior takes a break from whining for a while to pout at her before resuming, only stopping at Minji’s second grunt. She says, “I… Can you help me with…” They hold awkward eye contact as Dior fumbles trying to come up with something to say, “My… neck is itchy. Yes.” She nods as if that makes her terrible excuse more believable. She even cranes out her neck into Minji’s face, and Minji has to commend her commitment level to such a bald faced lie. 

 

“Dior.” Minji says seriously, “Are you…  _ flirting _ with me?” Because that was the thought that had entered her mind, and after Dior’s fumble it seemed so much more believable— when Dior had been pursuing Hangyeol she had faked countless emergencies and accidents to get his attention, and it can’t have been that she had just become clumsy actually now right? Dior pauses for an unnaturally short time (she had just been called out for flirting, after all),  and reply coolly, “Yes.” 

 

“Just like how you were flirting with Hangyeol?”

 

“That’s ancient history.” Another lie; she had only given up on the dumb boy weeks ago. Minji shakes her head and shrugs it away. 

 

“How did you know I was even into girls?” She asks. Not that she’s offended or even surprised that Dior did not even consider the possibility that she could be straight, but she is kind of curious as to how she comes off to pretty girls. Dior laughs, “How could I not? You literally have a bisexual bob.”  _ Right, okay. _ “And you’re  _ literally _ into me.”

 

Minji splutters, turning all shades of pink, her cheeks starting to match Dior’s sweater, “Why are you so sure?” She’s not that obvious, as per her knowledge. Plus, the last time she had interacted properly with Dior, she had been yelling at her in defense of Sangah. Nothing particularly loving about screaming at a pretty girl, right? Or about blocking her online or never interacting with her posts, ever. (God, she’s got bad game.) None of that seems to phase Dior though, and she replies, “A number of reasons… You watch all my stories, you like and then unlike my pictures, you’re sitting where I usually sit in the library, you have a crush on my brother, and hotness is genetic, and both you and Sangah have admitted that you think I’m pretty.” 

 

So it appears that Dior had, in fact, thought through it very well, and is so, so sure. Minji swallows her fear, “That evidence is… circumstantial.” They’re stuck in a psychosexual death match and Dior, with all her long brown hair and her pink cheeks, is winning. 

 

“Sure, but I have another reason.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Dior clasps her long, manicured fingers over Minji’s hands, her fuzzy sweater paws resting on top, fruit charms and all, and smiles the cutest, most victorious smile, and what she says almost kills Minji. 

 

“You’re going to ask me out after this.”

 

_ Damn, she’s good _ , Minji thinks. And she’s right. It’s the most pathetic, hilarious moment in Minji’s whole life because this arrogant, tall girl is declaring that Minji is going to ask her out, and she can’t even have the triumph of denying her because Minji’s just a poor girl with a weak heart and if Dior says she is going to ask her out then she is going to muster up all her homosexual will and do just that. Her head drops onto Dior’s hands and she lets out a defeated sob, only tilting her head up slightly to mutter, “Okay, fine. Will you say yes?”

 

“Ask me and you’ll see.”  _ Cheeky _ , Minji thinks. She pushes herself up to eye-level with Dior.

 

“Do you want to go out for a date soon, Dior Middle-Name Last-Name?”

 

“Lee.”

 

Oh, should’ve guessed. After all, cute and legendary Namshin’s name is Lee Namshin, how could Dior be any different? Still, it’s a relief to finally call her something that wasn’t just a big luxury brand name. Humanises her, as much as a death-bot hell-bent on destroying hearts is capable of being humanised. Dior looks amused at her expression, and Minji sees the look on her face, tight-lipped and held-back, as if she’s holding in a laugh, a premonition for a final blow that was going to fucking obliterate poor sapphic Lee Minji. 

 

“My full name Dior Lee Minji.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!!! I really love Dior with all my heart and my joohyuk heart couldn't NOT write this short and sweet (and dumb) fic <3 
> 
> talk to me on twt @mongaygay
> 
> please leave comments and kudos hehe tell me what u think!!


End file.
